A Very Weasley Christmas
by acci0tardis
Summary: An insight into ten different Weasley Christmasses, ranging from a6 year old Arthur to a 17 year old Victoire. A fun little series I'm doing in the run up to Christmas, I hope you enjoy! Despite what I've said for characters,the Weasleys feature equally.
1. 1956

"My friend Willie gets lots of presents!" Farley proclaimed loudly.

"Yes," Septimus hesitated, exchanging a glance with his wife Cedrella. "You will probably get just one present this year, Farley."

"Why?" Farley said incredulously, looking up from where he sat at the kitchen table.

"Well..." Cedrella paused, averting her children's gaze whilst under the pretence of folding piles of robes. "Wouldn't you rather get one good present than lots of not so good ones?"

"S'pose," Bilius said, puffing out his lower lip.

"Don't frown," Cedrella said automatically. "Or the wind will change and you'll be stuck like that forever."

Bilius rolled his eyes but did as he was told and his face changed to neutral.

"Can we open presents now?" Farley asked excitedly.

"I don't see why not," Septimus nodded. "Do you want to come and open your presents, Arthur?"

"Hm?" The youngest member of the Weasley family, Arthur, looked up from where he sat on the floor, playing with a toy train.

Septimus frowned. He was often worried by Arthur's behaviour. Bilius and Farley were both loud and possessed obvious talent. Arthur, on the other hand, preferred to blend in with others and rarely spoke unless spoken to.

"Do you want to open your presents?" He repeated.

"Erm, if everyone else wants to," Arthur said, always eager to please.

"YEAH!" Bilius and Farley shouted together.

"Shh," Cedrella scolded. "Come and sit round the tree then."

Farley jumped down from the table and ran to sit next to Billius, who promptly hit him on the shoulder. Arthur, meanwhile, shuffled slightly where he was sitting to be slightly closer to his brothers.

"Who wants to go first?" Cedrella asked.

"Me, me, me!" Bilius and Farley half screamed in unision. "Meeee!"

"Arthur," Septimus said kindly. "What about you?"

"S'alrigh'," Arthur shrugged. "Billy and Farley can go firs', I don't mind."

"Yay!" Bilius cried, accepting the present his Mother passed to him.

"Nicely!" Cedrella reminded him. "I want to keep the paper for next year."

Bilius scowled, but began to carefully untie the ribbon and ran his finger under the spellotape that binded the paper together, discarding the paper and turning to the gift that he now clutched in his hands.

"Wow," He breathed, staring in disbelief at the present. "Is it a proper one?"

"It is," Septimus grinned. "I know yours was a bit broken. It's not new... We couldn't afford a new one for you, but it should work okay."

"It's great!" Bilius cried, jumping up and flourishing his new wand.

"Uh-uh," Cedrella shook her head. "You know full well you're not allowed to use magic outside of school until you're seventeen."

"But that's not for another six years!" Bilius moaned.

"Well, tough," Cedrella said. "I'll take this, thank you."

Bilius gaped at her as she snatched the wand out of his hand.

"Don't look at me like that," Cedrella said, raising her brow. "I'll give it to you before you go back to school, and you've no use for it until then, have you?"

"No," Bilius said sulkily, drooping his head.

"Shut up, Billy," Farley said, digging his brother in the ribs. "Can I open mine now Mum? Can I, can I?"

"Absolutely," Cedrella nodded, taking Bilius' discarded wrapping paper and folding it neatly, smoothing over the folds.

Farley grabbed the large package with his name on from the pile of two left under the tree and sat it down next to him.

"It's bloody huge!" Bilius commented; he hadn't bothered looking at either Farley's or Arthur's gifts until now.

"Language," Septimus barked. "Come on then, Farley, open it."

Farley didn't need telling twice. He made to tear at the wrapper then, remembering his mother's earlier instructions, carefully untied the ribbon and peeled at the paper.

"Whoa!" He gasped as the present came into view. "Is it-?"

Cedrella beamed at him. "Open it," She laughed.

Farley's eyebrows were raised, his eyes wide in amazement as he pulled off the wrapping paper and tore it aside.

"It is!" He exclaimed. "It's a broom!"

"Do you like it?" Septimus asked, half sarcastically.

"It's _brilliant_!" Farley said, his voice full of amazement. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"That's not fair!" Bilius cried, snatching the broom off Farley and inspecting it in detail. "It's better than mine!"

"It's newer," Cedrella said softly.

"But... but... But Farley isn't even at Hogwarts yet!" Bilius protested. "And first years can't bring their own brooms! What's _Farley_ going to do with a broom?"

"You used to play before you went to Hogwarts," Farley pointed out.

"Exactly," Septimus said firmly. "Bill, you've got a wand. Farley gets a broom. End of."

"Fine," Bilius huffed, crossing his arms.

"Grow up, Billy," Farley sighed.

"Arthur," Septimus said, turning to his youngest son. "Do you want to open your Christmas present now?"

Arthur, who had been watching his brothers' with interest, looked somewhat doubtful.

"Come on," Cedrella said, handing the six year old a much smaller, badly wrapped package. "Dad wrapped that one," She added apologetically.

Arthur gave a small smile, too small to show the gap in his front teeth. Gingerly, he reached out and took the present from his mother. He set about carefully unwrapping it, taking care not to rip the paper.

"Wha' is it?" Arthur asked, as a oddly shaped, plastic object fell out of the package and onto the floor.

"It's a... What are they called, dear?" Cedrella asked Septimus as she snatched up Arthur's wrapping paper.

"A plug," Septimus informed her promptly. "Ah, no, a pug, I do believe. Or it might be a pulg... No, no, I'm sure it's pug."

"Pug?" Arthur repeated questioningly.

"Yes!" Septimus nodded enthusiastically, crouching down on the floor next to his son whilst Cedrella rolled her eyes. "It's something Muggles use, Artie."

"Wha' for?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, err..." Septimus paused. "I'm not sure! But don't you think it's incredible? One day, Artie, when you're a bit bigger, I'll let you take the pug apart and we can see what's inside, yeah?"

"Yeah!" Arthur said, giving a toothy grin for the first time in months.

"Good boy," Septimus smiled, ruffling Arthur's hair and turning back to Farley, who was fighting with Bilius over his wand.

For once, Arthur chose not to watch his brothers engage in physical attack, but instead sat quite still on the living room floor, transfixed. The 'pug' lay in his hands as he turned it over and over, as if hoping something would appear with each turn. As it was, he gazed at it, his mind whirring.

He had always liked Muggles, with their photos that didn't move and their odd modes of transport, and now he had a Muggle toy of his very own! He could barely contain his glee as he sat analysing the plug, blissfully unaware of the arguments and tears from his brother as Farley's broom snapped in half.

This was the day that Arthur Weasley's fascination with Muggles was born.


	2. 1970

"Who's turn is it?" Arthur's voice rang out in the bedroom.

"Mm," Molly mumbled, pulling the blanket tight over her head.

"I'll go," Arthur sighed, throwing the covers off his body, a low hiss escaping his lips as the cold air hit him. He pushed his feet into an old pair of slippers that sat on the side of the bed and pulled his dressing gown tightly around his body, stifling a yawn.

Blindly, Arthur reached out for the door knob, closing the bedroom door tightly behind him, so as Molly would not be woken again by their son's cries. He crossed the landing and leant against William's bedroom door, opening it slightly and squeezing through the gap, so as not allow too much light to spill into his son's room.

"William," He whispered, stepping to the cot and scooping his son into his arms. "Are you hungry?"

When William continued to cry, Arthur sighed and reached over to the table next to the cot, where he had placed a bottle of milk earlier. He settled himself in the chair in the corner of the room and prised open William's mouth, easing the bottle between his lips.

Arthur looked around the dark room, trying to make out shapes. They had had neither the time or money to furnish William's room properly, but Molly had allowed him to splash out on a couple of decorative items. The furniture, on the other hand, was all second hand. The cot, for example, had belonged to Arthur when he was younger; the changing table used to be Molly's; the table next to the cot was given to Arthur by his oldest brother, Bilius, and Arthur had handcrafted the cupboard on the other side of the room.

After a while, Arthur noticed William's eyes closing and automatically withdrew the bottle from his son's mouth, sitting William up and eventually placing him back in the cot.

He opened the door to William's room, once again grateful that he had placed a charm on it to stop it from creaking, and padded back across to the room he and Molly shared.

Arthur crept around the bed, taking care to keep his footfalls light so as not to wake Molly. As he pulled the covers around him, he stole a glance at the clock, mindful of the fact that Molly had nagged him to note down when William woke up.

"Oh," He let out a noise of surprise.

"What?" Molly mumbled.

Inwardly cursing himself for waking his wife, Arthur turned to face Molly.

"It's past midnight," He breathed. He smiled at her through the darkness and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Molly echoed. Her eyes remained close but she smiled slightly.

XXXXX

Molly groaned in frustration as she padded down the stairs, jiggling William in her arms in an attempt to silence his cries.

_It just didn't feel like Christmas_, she thought to herself. There was no tree, no family gathering and no fancy dinner, just a screaming baby.

Molly let out a loud sigh as she pushed her weight against the living room door. Her breath caught in her throat as the door swung open.

"Blimey," She breathed.

The small living room was largely taken up by a huge, green Christmas tree. It was decorated with lights, baubles and a manner of other decorations.

Molly laughed in amazement as William stopped crying.

"Do you like it?" Arthur stepped out of the kitchen, smiling widely.

Molly laughed again. "I love it," She told him. "When did you..." She guestured around the living room.

Arthur checked his watch. "I snuck down here about half an hour ago."

"You did this all by yourself?" Molly asked incredulously.

"Hey," Arthur said, mock-offended, "Give me some credit."

"Sorry," Molly grinned. "But seriously, you did all this in half an hour?"

Arthur smiled bashfully. "Not quite..."

Arthur stepped aside as two men moved out from where they had been standing previously, concealed by the kitchen wall.

Molly clapped a hand to her mouth, almost forgetting William was in her arms.

"Why don't I take William?" Arthur said hastily, snatching his son out of Molly's arms.

Molly, who didn't seem to have noticed, was still staring at the two men who stood in her kitchen. They were identical twins, just over three years older than her. They both had red hair, long noses and freckles on their nose and cheeks.

"F-Fabian," Molly breathed. "Gideon."

"Hi, Sis," Gideon grinned, stepping forwards and enveloping Molly in a hug.

"What are you doing here?" Molly squealed, turning to hug Fabian.

"Thought we'd drop in and see our little sister," Fabian offered. "And our new nephew!"

"But I thought you were in Italy with Mum and Dad," Molly said, her brow furrowing.

"We were," Gideon nodded. "Then we got an owl from Arthur saying that you two were in for a pretty lame Christmas, so we decided to stay with you for a couple of days."

Molly's eyes widened and she turned to Arthur.

"I love you, I love you, I love you!" She told him, throwing her arms around his neck and taking care not to squash William.

"So, this is our nephew?" Fabian asked, wandering over to where Molly and Arthur now stood.

"Yep," Arthur said, his voice full of pride. "Do you want to hold him?"

"Eesh, no," Fabian said. He stepped back, startled. "Nah, babies kind of freak me out a bit..."

Arthur snorted, and turned to the man he knew to be Gideon, purely by the clothes he was wearing. "Gideon?"

"Yeah, I'll have a go," Gideon shrugged, stepping forwards and holding out his arms.

Aware of Gideon's track record of clumsiness and childhood nickname of 'Butter fingers', Arthur handed William over to Gideon with great care.

"Careful with his head," Molly said before she could stop herself.

Gideon laughed. "Mols, I've held a few babies in my time. Remember I'm a healer? It's part of my job. Relax!"

"Sorry," Molly said, smoothing the front of her dress.

The four of them sat in silence for a moment, all gazing at William.

"Blimey!" Molly exclaimed after a few seconds.

"What?" Arthur, Fabian and Gideon asked together.

"I haven't got any food in!" Molly cried. "I wasn't expecting guests, Arthur and I were just going to have sandwiche-"

"Mols," Fabian rolled his eyes, putting out a hand to silence her. "We've got it covered."

"What do you mean?"

Gideon shook his head. "Just trust your big brothers for once, alright?"

XXXXX

A few hours later, Fabian and Arthur were standing by the front door, Arthur holding William in his carrier, waiting for Gideon and Molly to emerge from the living room.

"So, how are your parents?" Arthur asked.

Fabian sighed. "They're not too bad," He reasoned. "Mum's back's getting worse. Dad seems pretty jolly though. Then again, he always was just a big kid, it's probably the Christmas spirit."

Arthur laughed. "But they're well?"

Fabian paused, keeping his voice low so as Molly wouldn't hear them. "Mum went into hospital last month," He confided. "It was nothing serious, and it was never going to be fatal, so we didn't bother telling Molly. We didn't want to worry her, it was around the time William was born – two days before, actually."

"What was it?" Arthur asked, his eyes wide with concern.

"She had a bit of trouble ... breathing," Fabian said slowly. "She's in a bad way, in general. But we always knew that was happening, I suppose. Just... we've got a date now."

Arthur's voice caught in his throat. He coughed, embarrassed. "How long?"

"A year, tops," Fabian muttered, keeping a watchful eye on the living room door.

"You've got to tell Molly," Arthur said immediately.

"Shh!" Fabian hushed. "We will, I promise. Just... after the holidays. We know how stressed she's been with William and you working longer hours... Not that we blame you," He added hesitantly. "I know you've got to work overtime if you're going to support Molly and William, it's just... We didn't want to burden her."

Arthur nodded. "I can't tell her," He said. "You know what Molly's like; she'll have a fit if she knew I found out before her."

"Yeah," Fabian agreed. "Don't worry, Gideon and I were planning on staying a couple of nights. We'll tell her tomorrow."

XXXXX

Arthur had difficulty concentrating as the four of them plus William ate out at Molly's favourite Muggle restaurant for Christmas dinner. He knew Molly was closer to her father than her mother, but he had always got on best with Martha Prewett.

He recalled fond memories of when he and Molly had first started dating, and how Martha had been the only one of the Prewett family to accept Molly's odd choice in boyfriends. She had even seemed interested in his job and his fascination of Muggles, unlike anybody else Arthur knew.

Arthur had very little recollection of the weeks following his parents' deaths, though he remembered clearly sitting at the kitchen table in Molly's family home and being approached by Martha, who he had only met on two previous occasions.

On that day, Martha had talked to Arthur, who was almost a stranger to her, and told him that she was always here if he needed somebody, and that he was always welcome in her home.

It was the kind of promise Arthur would not forget in a hurry.

For now, though, he pushed the thoughts of Martha to the back of his mind and tried to enjoy his first Christmas as a father, with the people he loved most.

**A/N: I'm not entirely happy with the ending of this chapter, but I kind of just wanted to get it published. Hopefully I'll have time to get all ten chapters in by Christmas. If not, I don't know what I'll do... But anyway, the chapters might be a bit dodgy at the moment, but I'll probably go back and edit them after Christmas, once I've finished writing it :) Please review, they mean a lot!**


	3. 1982

"Will Ginny remember me?" Bill asked anxiously. "What about Ron?"

"I'm sure they will, Bill," Arthur said, giving his eldest son a reassuring pat on the back.

"Are you sure?" Bill asked.

"Positive," Arthur said firmly, directing Bill along the platform.

"How are we getting home?" Bill said.

"So many questions," Arthur laughed, ruffling Bill's hair affectionately. "We're going to walk to the Leaky Cauldron and we'll floo from there. But enough about that, how's school? How's Hogwarts? You're a whole term in now, Billy!"

"I told you not to call me that," Bill grumbled.

"Ahh, are you too cool for 'Billy' now?" Arthur chided.

Choosing to ignore his father's comment, Bill said, "Dad, can my friend Darren come to visit one day in the holidays? After Christmas?"

Arthur hesitated. "Probably," He said, "We'll have to check with Mum though, won't we? Come on, let's get home."

XXXXX

"Boys! Leave Ron alone!" Molly screeched, watching from the kitchen table as Fred and George tried to get Ron to eat from the packet of Owl Treats Fred was holding.

"Sorry, Mum," George said shamefacedly whilst Fred gave a wicked grin.

"You're lucky I'm holding your sister," Molly told them. "Or you'd both be in for a good smack. Wait 'til your father gets home and hears you're trying to force feed Ron animal food again."

"Is Bill coming home?" George asked excitedly, ignoring his mother's previous comment.

"Yes," Molly said for the umpteenth time. "You knew that, Georgie. Tell you what, why don't you and Freddie go upstairs and get changed before they get home – you don't want Billy to see you in your pyjamas, do you?"

George looked doubtful, but soon felt Fred's warm hand in his.

"Come on, Georgie!" Fred cried. "Let's go get changed!"

Molly watched as the twins made their way up the stairs, then looked down at Ginny.

"I shouldn't have let them do that, should I?" She said sadly to her daughter.

"No," Percy piped up, looking up from his Maths text book. "They'll probably set the whole house on fire now you've left them alone!"

"Don't worry about it, Perce," Molly laughed, ruffling Percy's hair. She arched her back in the chair, hissing slightly as she tried to work the knots out of her neck.

"You alright, Mum?" Charlie asked, wandering into the kitchen.

"Fine, darling," Molly smiled. She stood up, shifting Ginny's weight slightly, and set about making herself a cup of tea.

"Now," She said, "Bill will be here in just under half an hour. Have you tidied your room?"

"No," Charlie said simply.

Molly nearly dropped the mug. "Why not?" She half shrieked.

"Because _Bill_ never goes in my room, does he?" Charlie shrugged. "It's completely unnecessary for me to tidy my room. I cleared my stuff out of Bill's room though."

"Good," Molly said distractedly, stirring some extra sugar into her tea. She felt she needed the energy. Sighing, she sat Ginny down on the floor next to Ron, propping her up slightly with a cushion.

"Percy," Molly said wearily. "Do me a favour and make sure the twins don't come through here on a rampage and knock these two over, alright?" She gestured to where Ron and Ginny now sat on the rug, staring at each other in some confusion.

"Yes, Mother, will do," Percy said, his chest swelling in pride of being given such a responsibility.

XXXXX

A short while later, Molly sat down on the sofa, clutching the mug of tea in her hands. It was a rare moment of quiet in the Burrow. Well, Molly said quiet... Ron was rolling around in front of Ginny, who laughed gleefully at her older brother. Percy, as per usual, had his nose buried in a book. Fred and George were standing with their noses pressed to the window, watching in awe as Charlie flew around the paddock on Bill's broom, mindful of the fact that he wouldn't be able to use it once Bill returned for the Christmas holidays.

It was Ron who alerted Molly to the return of Arthur and Bill, by pointing excitedly at the side gate; he could see it perfectly from where he sat.

"Daddy!" Ron squealed, holding out both his arms.

"Daddy'll come and see you in a minute, sweetie," Molly reassured him, walking past him to open the door to the kitchen.

"Mum!" Bill cried, running past the hen coop to greet his mother.

"Oh, Bill!" Molly beamed, enveloping her son in a bone-crushing hug. "I've missed you!"

"I – can't – breathe!" Bill joked, scrambling out of his mother's firm grip and ducking past her into the kitchen. "If I find out Charlie's out in the paddock using my broom, I promise you, I'll –"

"Play nicely, Bill!" Arthur called to his son's retreating figure. He lifted Bill's trunk, which was considerably lighter than it had been in September, into the house and gave Molly a kiss on the choke.

"He seems well," Molly said, a note of pride in her voice.

"I don't think I realised how scared he was of You-Know-Who," Arthur muttered.

"What do you mean?"

Arthur paused. "I think he was really worried about it. I don't think he ever felt free, he felt like he was continuously being watched, like he couldn't do anything without being attacked. Now... I mean, since You-Know-Who's disappeared he... he seems much happier."

"We all are," Molly smiled, giving Arthur a quick hug and disappearing into the living room.

"You'd think Bill would want to come and see you two, wouldn't you?" Arthur asked, bending down next to his two youngest children and tweaking Ron's nose.

Ron giggled, rolling onto his father's lap.

"Argh!" Arthur mock-struggled. He grabbed Ron's small body and lifted him into the air, causing Ron to squeal in delight as he watched the furniture flash past him.

XXXXX

"Is she actually going to eat that?" Bill asked in disgust, looking at the stewed pears in a bowl placed in front of Ginny's high chair.

"You used to eat it," Arthur remarked, laughing at the look of repulsion on Bill's face. "Now, come on, sit down."

Grumbling and chattering, the Weasley children sat themselves around the large kitchen table. Once Fred and Percy had finished squabbling over who got to sit next to Bill, Arthur lifted Ron from the floor and onto his high chair.

Molly ran a hand through her hair before flicking her wand and conducted seven large plates (and one child's plate for Ron) each holding a variety of delicious food into the air and through to the kitchen, where they landed on the table, each with a soft clink.

"Well," Arthur said, once everyone was sitting down. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas!" Everyone chorused, whilst Ginny gurgled contently.

"Tuck in!" Arthur exclaimed, picking up his own knife and fork.

It was not longer into the meal when Molly put her knife and fork down, the clink of metal on china echoing slightly around the room. She picked up a plastic spoon and began to coax Ginny into eating some of the pear.

"Can I just say," She mused, teasing the spoon into Ginny's mouth, "That it's really nice to have everyone here."

"That's cheesy," Charlie said with his usual bluntness as chatter around the table ceased.

"Cheesy!" Fred echoed.

"Thank you, Charlie, Freddie," Molly said dryly. "I just mean it's lovely having Bill back."

"Glad I could bless you all with my presence," Bill said airily, taking a nonchalant sip from his glass.

"Shut up," Charlie laughed, digging his brother in the ribs.

"Yeah! Shut up!" George copied, reaching up to poke Bill in the cheek.

"Cheers, mate," Bill said, grabbing George's fist with his hand and pushing it away from his face.

"What I meant," Molly continued slightly crossly, "Was that it's the first time we've been together since September."

"Mum," Bill reminded her. "I've been home a week. We've had plenty of family meals since then."

"Oh, never mind," Molly huffed, putting down Ginny's spoon and picking up her own cutlery, before going back to her dinner.

**A/N: This is so not going to be done by Christmas. Ah well, hope you like it anyway! Please review, I won't bother continuing it otherwise **


	4. 1997

Ginny awoke with a start on Christmas morning that year, an all too familiar feeling in her stomach.

It wasn't the feeling one usually associated with Christmas morning; one of excitement and happiness, but one of dread and worry. Ginny was slightly surprised to feel an odd mix of hope filling her as well.

Ginny knew this Christmas would be like no other. For one thing, there was a cloud of worry hanging over the family; nobody had heard from Harry, Ron or Hermione since the wedding. They had to assume, as her father had said, that no news was good news. After all, it would have been all over the _Prophet_ if any one of the three of them had been found or killed.

_It was a good thing_, Ginny forcibly reminded herself. Her brother, the boy she loved and one of her best friends were off fighting for the greater good, and if they didn't do it, no one would.

Ginny rolled over in bed. There was no point in getting up, not really. They weren't giving/getting presents this year, except for the usual jumper. It wasn't safe to go out and all of the shops were shut anyway.

It was the first Christmas since before Ginny was born where the Weasley family weren't having a big get together. It was too dangerous to travel to different areas of the country – they were bound to be discovered and accused of being blood traitors, or taken in for questioning about the whereabouts of Ron, Hermione and Harry.

Bill and Fleur were at Shell Cottage, Fred and George were staying in the flat above the deserted shop, Percy wasn't talking to the family and Ron was... Well, no one knew where Ron was. It was only Charlie, Ginny and her parents at the Burrow this year. It would be a Christmas unlike any other, that was for sure.

XXXXX

Bill awoke to the sound of someone, presumably his younger brother, crashing around in the kitchen downstairs. Sighing, he rolled over and turned to face his wife, who was staring up at the ceiling.

"Merry Christmas," He murmured, more to the pillow than Fleur.

"Joyeux Noël," Fleur said back in her pure, French tongue.

"How long have you been awake?" Bill asked softly, brushing Fleur's cheek with the back of his hand.

Fleur glanced at the clock. "Around an hour."

"And how long... how long has he been down there?" He asked, indicating the kitchen.

"Since before I woke up."

"Today's not going to be easy, is it?" Bill said sadly.

"I zink not, no," Fleur agreed. Sighing, she threw the covers off her body and sprung out of bed with a grace Bill both admired and envied.

Bill watched her pull a fluffy, white dressing gown around her body and go into the bathroom before rolling over again. It was more than a little temping to pull the covers up over him and go back to sleep, and then deal with Ron later.

Groaning to himself, he kicked the covers away from him so they lay, deserted down the middle of the bed and half rolled, half fell off the bed. Not bothering to change just yet, he stole a quick glance in the mirror before heading downstairs.

He had been half-expecting to see Ron trashing his kitchen, with shards of glass and china all over the floor, so was nicely surprised to find his brother standing at the stove.

"Ron," Bill said. "What in the name of hell are you doing?"

"Cooking," Ron said brightly, avoiding Bill's eyes.

"But... why?"

"It's Christmas," Ron said, as if that explained his peculiar actions. "You cant' be without Christmas dinner, can you?"

"But we haven't got a turkey," Bill pointed out.

"I know," Ron said, setting about boiling some butter. "I'm making the best of a bad situation. It'll be fine, Bill."

"Right," Bill said, flicking his wand at the kettle, which promptly began to boil. "Tea?"

"Please," Ron nodded.

Bill smiled. Despite how odd Ron had been recently, even he could not refuse a cup of tea. Their mother was right; it really did solve everything.

Over the past few weeks, Bill had tried to make peace with the fact that Ron had left Harry and Hermione. As Ron said, there was no point sitting around regretting his decision when there was nothing he could do to rectify it. However, Bill was certain he could hear Ron sobbing during the night, shut up in the spare room under the illusion that nobody could hear him.

XXXXX

Molly bit her lip and closed her eyes against a cascade of tears as she made herself a cup of tea. It didn't feel right. It was Christmas morning, and there were only four of them in the house. The fact that she didn't know the whereabouts of two of her children and had no way of contacting the three of them that now lived alone often drew her sick with worry, and today was no exception.

When she was growing up, Molly had been taught that Christmas was a time for family. It didn't matter if money was low that year, as long as everyone could be together. What did she have now?

She snapped at herself to stop thinking like that, bustling around in the kitchen as a way of keeping busy. She looked over at the tree in the corner, sparsely decorated and with only three presents; the jumpers she had made for Arthur, Charlie and Ginny.

Charlie swearing as he stubbed his toe on the kitchen table alerted her to her son's presence. He came into the kitchen and smiled sadly at her.

Molly looked up at him, now much taller than she could ever hope to be, and reached up to brush his hair lightly away from his face. He screwed up his face in disgust but she merely smiled at him.

"Tea?" She asked him.

"Yes please," Charlie said eagerly, sitting down at the table and tracing circles with his finger.

Charlie sat at the table, nodding and agreeing with whatever it was his mother was saying, but he wasn't really paying attention to her voice. He knew this behaviour only too well. Molly was keeping herself busy, fussing about in the kitchen and talking at a ridiculously fast pace, her voice a little higher than usual. It was what people did when they lost someone they loved; kept talking and kept doing something, just so they didn't have to think about the loved one.

It was an odd sensation, having so few of them at Christmas, though Charlie had spent many Christmasses in Romania, without any of his family. Still, it didn't feel natural being around the Burrow without Fred and George putting fireworks under Percy's chair, or going outside and playing Quidditch with his siblings.

He sighed and accepted the tea from his mother. There was nothing he could do about it.

XXXXX

Bill, Fleur and Ron sat around the kitchen table in relative silence, eating their dinner (chicken soup which Ron had prepared) with only short lines of conversation drifting between them.

Bill studied Ron. He had run out of steam. He had seen his mother act like this when she was scared or worried about something; she would keep herself so busy that she didn't have time to think of anything, but by the end of the day would have both worn herself out and run out of things to do, so would just crumple on the sofa and not talk to anyone, mulling over her thoughts.

It wasn't a good technique for dealing with worries, Bill thought to himself. Ron was going to kill himself just going over and over the night he had left Harry and Hermione, and Bill decided there and then that, at some point during the day, he would confront his brother and get him to open up, rather than sit and watch the knowledge that Ron had left his two best friends kill his brother.

XXXXX

Later in the afternoon, Bill, Fleur and Ron sat in the small living room of Shell Cottage, each engaged in separate activities. Fleur was cleaning the shelves unnecessarily, Bill was engrossed in a book about Quidditch and Ron was busily staring into space.

Bill looked up from his book and coughed, catching Fleur's eye. After just six months of marriage, Fleur knew her husband well enough to know what the look meant. Mumbling her excuses, she left the room.

Bill paused, placing a scrap of paper between the pages of the book he hadn't really been concentrating on, and looked across at his brother, who was gazing at the ceiling.

"So, Ron," Bill said quietly, shifting in his seat. "You've been here almost two months now. Have you any idea what you're doing?"

"What d'you mean?" Ron asked, not taking his eyes off the spot in the ceiling.

"Well... Do you want to talk about what happened the night you left Harry and Hermione?"

Ron didn't answer.

"Ron," Bill coaxed, sitting up and folding his arms across his lap. "You need to talk about it. I won't tell anyone, not even Fleur. But you've gotta share it, bro. It's eating you alive."

Ron closed his eyes. Slowly, he swung round in his seat so he was facing Bill, finally looking at his brother.

"In your own time," Bill murmured.

Ron took a deep breath. "It was stupid," He said. "I got splinched. I couldn't apparate, so, naturally, Harry got a bit... frustrated with me. I felt useless. More useless than normal, I mean. And, well... I was... I was sick with worry about all of you." He took a deep breath. Having a meaningful conversation with Bill was a first. "I suppose I got jealous of Harry and Hermione. They didn't have to listen to the radio all day, awaiting the seemingly inevitable deaths of their entire family. Hermione's parents are hidden away and safe in Australia, and Harry's are dead..."

"Ron!" Bill hissed, a threatening glare appearing on his face. "You didn't... you didn't tell him that, did you?"

Ron looked down at the floor, biting his lip.

"You idiot," Bill muttered. "You absolute pillock, Ron Weasley."

"Well I don't feel good about it!" Ron said defensively. "Now, do you want me to finish my story, or shall I stop whilst you sit there and judge me?"

Bill bit back a retort, and gestured for Ron to continue.

"Harry and I got into a fight after I said that. I regretted it as soon as the words left my mouth, I wasn't thinking... And then I left."

"That's it?" Bill blinked.

"Well... yeah," Ron furrowed his brow.

"Really, Ron?" Bill exclaimed jumping up. "I know we Weasley men aren't exactly famed for our tact but that really is poor."

Ron stood up to, taking a step towards his brother, who was at least four inches shorter than him. "I told you I regret it, didn't I? And, for your information, Bill, I'm going to find them!"

"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?" Bill sneered. "You're stuck here, Ron! You made your decision, and you left. End of."

"No, it's not." Ron said quietly. Though Bill was right, he had no way back. Sighing and blinking back the angry tears that were forming, he pushed past Bill and went back upstairs.

XXXXX

"I wonder..." Ginny said, looking out into the garden.

"What?" Arthur asked, studying his daughter.

Ginny sighed, and pressed a hand against the glass window. "I wonder what they're doing..."

"Don't," Molly said sharply.

Ginny spun around. "What?"

"I don't want to talk about them," Molly said simply, standing up and turning away from her family.

"Mum," Ginny said softly. "Mum, I –"

"_Enough_, Ginevra!" Molly shrieked. "Enough! There's no point in us sitting around here _thinking _about them, is there? No! So stop!"

Ginny gaped at her mother, her eyes blazing and glistening with tears. Mortified, she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Ginny never cried in front of people, and the survival instinct she had adopted growing up with her brothers of not crying kicked in as she subconsciously stalked out of the room, running up the stairs and slamming the bedroom door behind her, falling to the floor just as the tears began to fall.

After a while, Ginny wiped her eyes and crossed to her bedroom window, looking up at the sky.

"Harry," She whispered, her voice thick from crying. "All of you," She pleaded. "Come home. Please."

* * *

><p><strong>Well, the probability of this being finished by Christmas is getting thinner and thinner, but ah well! I hope you like it , please review!<strong>


	5. 1998

**Well, I've sat here with hot chocolate and managed to get another chapter done. I'm halfway there so er... maybe I'll get some done on Boxing Day. I'm not sure. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Please review, they mean a lot:) **

George rolled over in bed, covering his head with a pillow in an attempt to block out the gentle knocking on his bedroom door. There was no point in anyone trying to wake him, for there was no point in him getting up. He let out a groan as his mother continued to knock on the door, but made no move to get up or call her in.

Molly leant her forehead against George's bedroom door as he stayed firmly on the other side, as she blinked back tears. Christmas was going to be hard for all of them this year, harder than even last year.

Arthur came down the stairs to the landing, studying his wife as she knocked patiently on George's bedroom door.

"Molly," He said quietly, gently easing his wife's hands off of the door handle. "Come downstairs, we'll make some tea," He murmured. "George will come down later."

Molly sniffed, but nodded and allowed Arthur to direct her down the stairs to the kitchen, where Ron and Ginny already sat.

"Merry Christmas, everyone," Arthur said with as much brightness as he could muster. He was determined for his family to have a good Christmas without the burden of Voldemort over their heads.

"Merry Christmas," Ron grunted back, whilst Ginny remained silent.

"Is Harry up yet?" Molly asked anxiously.

"He's awake, if that's what you mean," Ron told her, not taking his eyes off of the mug of tea in front of him.

"Maybe I'd better check on him-" Molly started, glancing at her watch.

"Molly," Arthur said easily, taking a firm hold on her wrists. "You're not going to help him by going up there, are you, love?"

"But it's gone ten," Molly pointed out, her bottom lip quivering slightly.

Arthur sighed. It was a rare occasion when someone won an argument with Molly.

"I'll go," Ginny said, speaking up for the first time all morning. With less grace than she'd have liked, she stood up from the table, setting her mug down with a loud clunk, and ascended the stairs.

She reached Ron's attic bedroom and knocked thrice on the door.

"Harry?" She called out. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," Came Harry's muffled voice.

Her heartbeat rising slightly, Ginny opened the door and closed it firmly behind her, taking in Ron's room.

Harry was sitting on a chair, his legs braced on Ron's bed. The Snitch Dumbledore had left him was flying a couple of feet above Harry's lap, and he kept reaching out to catch it before letting it free again.

Ginny crossed the room to reach him, neatly stretching her arm and catching the Snitch from in front of his face, smiling slightly.

Harry gave her a sad smile back as she sat down on Ron's bed.

"Are you coming down?" She asked. "Mum's getting worried."

"There's a surprise," Harry sighed. "Is George up?"

Ginny shook her head. "I don't think he'll be up for a while..."

Harry gazed at Ginny in concern as she averted his eyes.

"You alright?" He asked her.

"Fine," Ginny said, but the thickness of her voice gave her away.

"Come here," Harry said softly, reaching out his hands.

Ginny hesitated, but took his hands and let Harry pull her onto his lap. He pressed a kiss to her temple and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear.

"I'm sorry," He told her, nuzzling into her neck.

"We've been through this," Ginny murmured.

"I'm sorry Fred is gone," Harry said. "Ginny I am so, so sorry."

Ginny sighed, unashamedly letting tears fall from her eyes. Harry was the one person she could cry around and not feel weak.

"Harry?" She asked, twisting in his lap so she faced him.

"Yes?"

"Can you- Can you help me get George up? I'm scared for him. He hasn't been like this since September. But the last week or so... It's almost as bad as it was when... as it was in May."

Harry nodded mutely. "D'you want to go now?"

"One minute," She told him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him to her.

XXXXX

"George?" Harry asked, knocking on the door. "It's me. Can I come in?"

When noise came from inside, Ginny ushered him into George's bedroom, pressing her ear to the door.

Harry took in George's room. A stack of boxes containing stock from the joke shop were piled up in between the two beds. Fred's bed still had the covers on, which were messy from where Fred had last kicked them off in the morning. That sight alone made Harry want to burst into tears, but he swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at George.

George was lying in bed, staring at the bed opposite. He didn't look up as Harry entered the room.

"Merry Christmas," Harry said lamely. He wasn't sure what to do with himself. He didn't particularly fancy sitting on the edge of George's bed, and sitting on Fred's bed would just seem disrespectful. He settled for sitting cross legged on the floor.

"What are you doing, you prat?" George asked. His voice was low and dull, but a ghost of a laugh escaped his lips.

"Err, I don't really know," Harry grinned, standing up again. He paused. "Are you gonna come downstairs?"

"Eventually," George sighed, rolling onto his back and gazing up at the ceiling.

"Good," Harry said shortly, looking at his hands.

"How do you do it?" George asked after a while.

"Do what?" Harry asked.

"Keep going?" George asked. "I mean, you've lost everyone. How do you find the strength to carry on?"

Harry paused before answering. "I haven't lost everyone," He told George. "I've got Ron, Hermione, Gin, you, your parents, Teddy... I think... It's difficult when you lose someone you've loved. Particularly for you. I mean, I lost my parents, but I never knew life with them. Even Sirius; I didn't spend every waking moment with him. I know it's hard for you trying to adjust to life without Fred – he played such an important part in your life – but, if you think about it, you're in no way alone. You've got your family. They all... We all care for you so much, George. Sometimes I don't think you realise how much. I know it's hard without Fred, but I _promise_ you, it gets easier."

XXXXX

Arthur looked up and smiled as Harry came down the stairs, closely followed by Ginny and George. He completely understood the fact that, since Fred's death, George had often seen Harry as somebody he could talk to. Harry had, after all, dealt with more than his fair share of death.

As Ginny and Harry settled on the sofa, Arthur beckoned George into the kitchen.

"I just want to say," He said, under the pretence of making them both a cup of tea. "I know this year is going to be hard for all of us, you in particular, without Fred but I want to remind you that he... he wouldn't have wanted us all sitting around here moping, would he? He'd be here, putting fireworks under people's chair just like every other year. Just something for you to think about."

George managed a small smile. He would do more than think about putting fireworks under people's chairs.

XXXXX

It was gone twelve o'clock when Ron left the Burrow, walking through the fields to meet Hermione, who was apparating to the village from her parent's house in Oxford. He spotted her a fair distance away, laden with several large presents. He laughed out loud into the cold afternoon and crossed the field in record time to meet Hermione. Unfortunately, however, he was not prepared for Hermione to drop all her presents and throw herself at him. As she swung her legs around his hips he promptly fell back into the muddy field, both of them laughing hysterically.

"Merry Christmas!" Hermione cried.

"Merry Christmas," Ron grinned, flicking some mud at Hermione.

"OI!" She squealed, wrestling him so that his hair soon became caked with mud.

"Okay, okay," Ron wheezed, clutching Hermione's wrists to stop her.

She giggled and leant over him to kiss him.

"Merry Christmas," She whispered.

XXXXX

Everyone seemed to have made some kind of unsaid agreement to act as if it was just another Christmas. Watching the family eat dinner, one would never have known that they had lost a member just six months previously.

George didn't know how he felt. He wanted to enjoy himself, and didn't want to ruin everyone's day by sitting around, thinking about Fred. On the other hand, it seemed sick and wrong to enjoy the day without Fred. It didn't feel right, them all being here, having a good time when Fred could no longer be with them.

He turned to Harry, who was sitting next to him.

"Harry," He murmured, not wishing to draw attention to himself.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, wincing at how carefree he sounded.

"I think I'm going to go and visit Fred's grave later," George told him, surprising himself with how quickly he'd made the decision. "Can you cover for me? Tell them I'm upstairs or something? I don't want Mum worrying..."

"Sure," Harry nodded. "I can come with you, if you want?"

"Nah, it's alright," George smiled appreciatively. "I'd rather –"

George was cut off by a loud _bang_ and a squawk from further down the table. He turned, laughing, to see Percy literally fuming (his eyebrows appeared to have been burnt off), holding the remains of a firework.

"GEORGE!" Percy shouted, whilst everyone – even Molly – erupted into fits of laughter.

XXXXX

George pulled his scarf tighter around his neck, bracing himself against the wind as he made his way up the hill to where Fred's grave was. It was a cold, December night, but it was cloudless and hundreds of stars shone in the sky. George smiled slightly, remembering the fairytale he had heard as a child in which people who died became stars in the sky.

George reached Fred's grave stone and knelt down next to it, as he did every time he came to visit. It almost felt as if he was sat facing his brother again. He sat for a while, studying the engravings. He looked up at the sky, and then back down at the grave.

"Merry Christmas, Freddie," He said sadly. "My first Christmas without you, and I just about survived it. I'm sorry for laughing. I'm sorry for smiling and joking. I'm sorry for having a good time. I shouldn't be doing it without you.

"You know, the others tell me that you'd want me to be happy. I know better, though. You're probably up there now thinking 'That git, having a good time. They should all declare another day of mourning for me'." He offered an echo of a laugh.

"There I go again," He sighed. "Laughing. See, I'm absolutely useless without you, Fred."

His voice died as a lump formed in his throat.

"I miss you, Freddie," Was all he could muster before he started to sob.


	6. 2001

"It just doesn't feel right," Bill grumbled, watching as Victoire totted around the living room. "We _always_ go home for Christmas."

"Yes, William, but I zink eet ees fair zat we visit my family for once, non?" Fleur asked impatiently, scooping Victoire into her arms.

"But they're coming to visit us," Bill protested. "And, as I've told you many a time before, Mum would be more than happy to have your parents and sister at the Burrow for Christmas."

"I couldn't do it to your muzzer," Fleur said. "She has enough on her plate as eet eez."

"But it won't be the same," Bill complained.

"William!" Fleur scolded. "You are acting like a child. We are seeing your family Christmas Eve, and we will see zem in zee New Year, oui? Now stop complaining."

XXXXX

Monsieur Delacour bounded down the stairs early on Christmas morning, waking Bill and Victoire (who promptly started screaming) in the process. Bill all but rolled from the bed and eased Victoire out of the travel cot they'd had to move into his and Fleur's room to accommodate Fleur's family.

"Come on, darling," Bill soothed, rubbing circles in Victoire's back in an attempt to silence her. When her cries persisted, he added, "Chin up, it's Christmas!"

Victoire continued to bawl. Sighing, Bill shifted her onto his hip and headed downstairs.

"Merry Christmas, Bill!" Monsieur Delacour cried as Bill entered the kitchen.

"Merry Christmas," Bill replied with not as much enthusiasm; he wasn't particularly comfortable with his father-in-law seeing him in his boxers. He crossed the room and picked out a bottle of milk for Victoire, and then sat down at the kitchen table. Cradling Victoire, he began to ease the bottle into her mouth.

Victoire's sobs subsided almost immediately, earning a small smile of satisfaction from Bill.

Bill twisted in his seat and turned to face Monsieur Delacour. "What are you doing up so early?" He asked.

"Eet's Christmas!" Monsieur Delacour beamed. "I am – how you say – I am surprised zat you are not all awake already! What time does Fleur usually awake?"

"Nine at the weekend," Bill informed him.

"Nine?" Monsieur Delacour's loud voice rung out in the small kitchen, causing Victoire to whimper.

"Yes, nine," Bill said, somewhat coldly. "Between work and Victoire, she doesn't have much time to herself, so I reckon it's fair that she gets a lie in, don't you?"

"But eet's Chrismtas!" Monsieur Delacour protested.

Bill looked at his watch and saw, much to his dismay, that it was five thirty. "Look," He said wearily, amazed he was having such a conversation with his father-in-law, "Why don't you go back to bed for a couple of hours? Fleur might get up earlier."

Grumbling, Monsieur Delacour left the room and trudged up the stairs, leaving Bill alone with Victoire.

"I know your Mum's right about spending Christmas with her family as well as mine," He said softly, stroking her tufts of red hair. "But it's not going to feel right, not being at the Burrow." Setting the bottle down on the table, he pressed a kiss to Victoire's forehead and lifted her to his chest.

XXXXX

It was halfway through the afternoon and Victoire was getting restless. She had been continually passed around the family as everyone tried to comfort her, and everyone had tried to get her to take an interest in her presents, but she wouldn't settle.

Mademoiselle Delacour, who was holding Victoire, put her back down on the floor with an exasperated sigh and watched as Victoire, whimpering, made her way towards her father, her arms outstretched.

"Hey there, little one," Bill smiled, reaching out his arms and pulling Victoire onto his lap. Pressing a hand to her forehead, he added, "Cor, you're boiling! Maybe I should take her for a walk..."

Fleur looked somewhat reluctant, but nodded. "Don't be too long."

Bill flashed her a smile, waved to everyone else and headed out of the room. A few moments later, they heard the front door slam.

Bill wasn't sure exactly where he was going, but his legs seemed to be directing him. Before he knew it, he ended up at the nearest Wizarding pub, where there was a Floo Connection.

"Guess I know where we're going then, don't I?" He murmured to Victoire, stepping into the pub and pushing past the punters until he reached the queue for the fireplace. The queue quickly faded, and within minutes Bill was stepping into the fireplace, floo powder clutched in his hand and Victoire pressed tightly to his chest. "The Burrow!" He cried into the flames.

XXXXX

The chattering that filled the Burrow subsided as green flames burst from the fireplace and, much to everyone's surprise, Bill stumbled out, holding Victoire.

"Bill!" Came a variety of confused cries.

"What are you doing here?" Ginny asked, jumping up and kissing her brother.

"Err," I don't really know," Bill admitted, as Ginny gestured for him to take her seat next to Percy.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" George asked, looking up from where he was playing with Teddy on the floor.

"Well, it was a bit crowded at home," Bill said.

"So you came here?" Ron snorted, looking pointedly around the room, which was fit to burst with people.

"Yeah, all right," Bill huffed as Ginny sat on the arm of Harry's chair. "I love Fleur's family but her Dad's so loud and her Mum's just so..."

"Proper," Harry supplied, pulling Ginny onto his lap.

"Exactly," Bill agreed, setting Victoire on the floor, who immediately stumbled towards Teddy and George.

"Anyway," Bill continued. "Victoire was getting restless so I brought her here for a bit. I hope that's okay."

"You know it's always okay, dear," Molly said, stopping on her way to the kitchen and patting his cheek affectionately. "Christmas wouldn't have been the same without you."

"Don't say that, Mum, he'll think he's special or something," Charlie joked, winking at his brother.

"Thanks for that, mate," Bill grinned.

"No problem," Charlie shot back.

Bill smiled around at his family, all clad in Weasley jumpers, as the chatting started up again. It really wasn't right, spending Christmas without the utterly mad people he called his family.

"All right then," Arthur called, examining the pile of presents still under the tree. "Who hasn't finished opening? Come on, own up!"

"I don't think I have," George said, glancing up from Teddy.

"You would be correct," Arthur nodded, handing George a heavy, rectangular present.

"To George, from Percy," George read the gift tag. "So heartfelt, Perce," He laughed, pretending to wipe away a tear.

He placed the present in front of Teddy and Victoire. "D'you want to help me open this?" He asked them.

"Yeah!" Teddy cried, whilst Victoire giggled at his side. Teddy stretched forwards and began tearing hopelessly at the paper.

"I'll give you a hand, shall I?" George asked gently, carefully sliding his thumb underneath the spellotape and unfolding the wrapping paper.

"Err, wow," He said, lifting the heavy book from the paper and holding it out of Teddy's reach. "_Tricks of the Trade: Pranks and Jokes,"_ He said, reading the cover aloud.

"No problem," Percy said, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

"Who's that big one for?" Teddy asked excitedly, gesturing to a particularly large present under the tree.

"Err," Arthur checked the label. "It's for your Aunty Ginny. Do you want to give it to her?"

Teddy nodded, beaming with pride as he crossed the room to Ginny, despite the fact that he staggered slightly under the weight of the present.

"Dere you go, Aunty Ginny," He said, smiling widely.

"Aww, thank you, sweetie," Ginny said, ruffling his hair.

"Who's it from?" Asked Ron, his eyes on thepresent.

Ginny checked the gift tag. "Harry," She said in surprise. Turning to face Harry, she added, "I thought we weren't getting big presents this year."

"We weren't," Harry smiled. "Open it."

Grinning, Ginny tore off the layer of wrapping paper. "Oh," She said, ass another lyer of wrapping paper was revealed. Ripping it off, she laughed at the side of yet another layer of paper. "How many layers _are there_?" She asked Harry.

"A fair few," Harry commented idly.

Five minutes and thirty eight layers of wrapping paper later, Ginny peeled off the spellotape on the last layer of paper covering the gift, which was now much smaller than she had originally thought.

"Oh my –" Her voice died in her throat as a delicate engagement ring fell into her hand.

Harry gazed at her, losinghimself in Ginny's chestnut eyes. The rest of the family seemed to fade away; everything was about him and Ginny.

"Ginny," He said softly, taking the ring out of her hand. "You are _so_ perfect. You are absolutely brilliant. Without you, I... Well, I don't think I'd still be here," He finished gravely, noticing tears shining in Ginny's eyes. After a long pause he took a deep breath.

"Ginny Weasley, will you marry me?"

Ginny gave a shaky laugh. "Yes," She beamed.

Grinning, Harry slipped the ring onto her finger, just as Ginny threw her lips around him, her lips crushing down on his. She entwined her fingers in his hair, pushing him back against the back of the sofa.

"Ahem," Arthur's polite cough alerted the two of them to the rest of the family's presence.

"Bugger," Ginny growled against Harry's lips, reluctantly pulling herself away from him.

"Congratulations, you two!" Molly squealed, half running across the room to embrace the two of them. "We must get some champagne out!"

"I'm on it!" Charlie yelled from the kitchen.

XXXXX

"Where've you been?" Fleur exclaimed as the click of the front door sounded in the hall.

"I popped over to Mum and Dad's," Bill said sheepishly, looking at his feet.

"Ah, 'ow are Molly and Arthur?" Mademoiselle Delacour asked.

"They're great, thanks," Bill said easily. "They send you all their love." He put Victoire down on the floor and turned to Fleur, stroking her hair absent mindedly. "I've got some news," He told her.

"Oui?"

"Harry and Ginny got engaged," Bill grinned.

"C'est fantastique!" Fleur exclaimed, jumping up and heading into the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Bill called after her.

"Write zem a letter," Fleur's voice floated back.

Shaking his head, Bill scooped Victoire into his arms and headed up the stairs. "Come on, little one, let's get you to bed.

**Well, this is probably the last chapter before Christmas, seeing as I'm going out in a couple of hours. So thanks for reading this, and Merry Christmas!**


End file.
